


The Necromancer's Apprentice

by Feeshies



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Backstory, Character Development, Orlais, body horror mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 03:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18842335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feeshies/pseuds/Feeshies
Summary: Alternate Title: You, Me, & DuPuisFollows the life of Gascard DuPuis, from an apostate frustrated with the petty world of Orlesian politics, to becoming the apprentice to Kirkwall's most notorious serial killer.





	The Necromancer's Apprentice

The Library of Val Royeaux, like many things Gascard came to realize about his home country, had little substance beneath its ornate surface.

Gascard’s legs were exhausted from meandering back and forth between the winding rows of bookcases, but his mind was still racing. As an apostate, he had to be careful not to linger around the magic section for  _ too _ long - not that he would have to worry about that.  The library’s collection of magical texts was pitiful to say the least.  All he wanted was a book about magic that was new and different. He read through Brother Devereux’s  _ Living With Magic _ so many times that he was certain he had the entire text memorized, down to the individual trite sentence.  Jacob Héroux’s  _ Chuchotements De Nuit?   _ If Gascard wanted to read about how he should be living in fear of his abilities because he will always be one second away from demonic possession, then he would have just gone to the Circle.

For the fifth time that week, Gascard left the library empty handed.  Usually he would check out a random book to avoid questions, but usually he didn’t bother.  He just dug his fists into his coat pockets as he disappeared through the front doors.

The lamplighters were already finishing their shifts by the time Gascard left the library, reminding him of how much time he wasted on his fruitless quest.  His parents would prefer him to be home by sundown, but there was something else he had to take care of first. Instead of walking down the cobblestone path to his family’s estate, Gascard made a detour.

The Larousse estate was secluded behind large cobblestone walls, but Gascard had no trouble scaling over them.  The lady of the house valued her gardens as well as her family’s privacy, so the mansion was almost swallowed by the plantlife.  The gardens surrounding the estate were almost as dense as the wilderness themselves, but Gascard had trekked through them enough times to know how to avoid getting lost or cut up by thorns.

Even with the last traces of sunlight long-gone behind the horizon, Gascard managed to navigate his way through the more difficult areas of the garden without trouble.  He stopped just outside the mansion and stared up at the second story window. There was a dim orange light glowing from behind the thick curtains. Gascard smiled as he knelt down and combed his fingers through the cold dark soil until he found a small rock.

Gascard threw the rock upwards where it lightly tapped against the glass.  There was some movement inside before a young man pulled the curtains back and opened the window.  He was still wearing the crisp red and gold uniform of the University of Orlais, but his black hair was tousled around his heart-shaped face.

“Victor,” Gascard waved his hand in an effort to get his attention, all while trying to keep his voice down.

“Why can’t you just use the door?”  Victor whispered down to him. “My parents like you.”

“I don’t want to see them, I wanted to see you,” Gascard answered as he began climbing the lattice on the side of the house, despite Victor’s protests.

“Just use the door!  Maker’s breath, you’re going to get yourself hurt!”

Gascard finished climbing and sat down on Victor’s windowsill.

“You were saying?”  He asked, unable to suppress the smugness of his tone.

Victor sighed,

“Just get in here before I push you out.”

Gascard swung his legs over the side and stepped into Victor’s room.

“I see that the university life is treating you well,” he said, nodding to the pile of unopened tomes and blank parchment gathering dust in the corner.

“Father owns half of the institution, it’s not like they’re going to kick me out,”  Victor paused. “No offence.”

“I was not kicked out,” Gascard clarified.  “I left willingly.”

“Right,” Victor crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.  “So, I take it you just got back from the library?”

“How could you tell?”

“You still have that look of disappointment on your face.”

Gascard sighed and slumped down on the floor near the bed.

“Is it that obvious?”

“If you’re missing that sense of intellectual satisfaction,” Victor sat on the floor next to him, resting his head against his shoulder.  “You could always come back to the university.”

Gascard scoffed and draped an arm around him.

“And that’s supposed to be any better?”

Victor shrugged,

“You’ll be able to see me without climbing through the window.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Victor rolled his eyes,

“You already spend all of your free time in the library.  What’s wrong with the university?”

“It’s…”  Gascard sighed and rubbed his forehead.  “I have nothing against the university, but they don’t offer anything that I want to learn.”

“What is it you want to learn then?”

Gascard looked around Victor’s room and listened closely for any signs of activity outside.  He knew there was a slim chance anyone would be listening in on them, but he couldn’t be too careful.

“I want to expand my knowledge of magic.  It’s frustrating, knowing that I have this power but I’m expected to do nothing with it.  There’s a whole universe of untapped arcane knowledge out there and I want to find it.”

Victor furrowed his brow,

“Don’t you have a tutor?”

“Sorrel?”  Gascard waved his hand dismissively.  “She gave up on seriously studying magic a long time ago.  She’d been having me light candles for the past three weeks.  Not exactly intensive study.”

“Hmm,” Victor frowned.  “Maybe you should go to the Circle then.”

“Honestly?” Gascard looked at him in mock horror.  “You’re so eager to get rid of me?”

“I don’t want to get rid of you,” Victor nudged his ribs.  “But if you would be happier elsewhere…”

“I’m happy right here,” Gascard tucked Victor’s head under his chin, tightening his grasp around his shoulders.

Victor laughed and pressed himself closer against him.

“Well, then you’re going to have to learn to appreciate being an Orlesian noble,” he absentmindedly played with one of Gascard’s loose sleeves.  “The parties, the backstabbing, being married off to some noble family’s daughter…”

“The way you talk, it almost sounds like you want me to run off somewhere.”

Victor rolled his eyes.

“I don’t worry about you running away.  You wouldn’t last a week without someone to fluff your pillows or peel your grapes for you.”

“Awfully big talk coming from someone who didn’t attend his university classes for a week because the rain would ruin his coat.”

“First of all,” Victor pulled back from him.  “The coat was silk, which does not respond well to getting wet.  I swear, I don’t understand why Val Royeaux hasn’t outlawed holding classes during the rainy season.”

Gascard grinned,

“I rest my case.”

Victor rolled his eyes again.

“You’re going to go blind if you keep doing that,” Gascard commented.

“We’re both nobility, Gascard.  You just have to learn to play the Game.  I know that everything about your magic or your schooling feels shallow, but our lifestyle is shallow,” he shrugged.  “You just have to find those few things in your life with actual meaning, and hold onto them.”

“You’re such a pessimist,” Gascard smirked against Victor’s cheek before kissing his temple.

“Well, someone needs to keep you grounded in reality,” he rested his head back against Gascard’s chest.

Gascard sighed as he ran his fingers through Victor’s dark hair.  In that moment, it was all too tempting for him to enroll in the university again just so he could spend more time like this with him.  He cherished those moments, but the knowledge that nothing would come of their relationship seemed to always be an unspoken truth between them.  It was inevitable that they would both be married off at some point. Anything between him and Victor would have to either be hidden, or kept to the sidelines in favor of the more politically important relationship.  Like his magic, this would be something Gascard would be forced to conceal behind a mask.

Maker, he was sick of masks.

Victor managed to convince Gascard to use the door instead of climbing back out through the window.  However, that meant he couldn’t avoid running into Victor’s mother.

“Oh, Gascard,” Comtesse Larousse was sitting poised in the drawing room, her silk gloved hand swirling a deep glass of red wine.  “I didn’t hear you come in. You’re looking well. How has your mother been? It feels as if it’s been ages since we last spoke.”

“Thank you, Comtesse Larousse,” Gascard nodded stiffly.  “My mother is doing quite well.”

“Wonderful, wonderful,” the comtesse smiled a wine-stained smile.  “Will we be seeing you at Yseult’s soiree tomorrow evening?”

He nodded again,

“Of course,”   _ Yseult was his aunt, so it wasn’t like he had much of a choice… _

“That’s just marvelous, Victor will be thrilled.  He really admires you.”

“Is that so?”  Gascard couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from curling into a small smile.

“Oh, yes.  I remember when the two of you were practically inseparable at the university,” she sighed wistfully and shook her head.  “Well, I shouldn’t keep you.  _ Bonne nuit, Gascard _ .”

Gascard didn’t allow himself to slip out of his Orlesian noble affectation until he was outside of the Larousse estate.  He was less bothered by how difficult the mask was to take off and more so by how easy it was for him to put it on. 

He looked over his shoulder at the mansion to make sure nobody was watching, then he flexed his wrist, conjuring a small flash of light in his palm.  It was only for an instant, but even this tiny showcase of his power allowed him to feel real again.

 

* * *

 

 

Gascard groaned in frustration and slammed his fist against the table, causing the unlit candle to topple over.  These tutoring sessions never failed to drive him up the wall. He knew he was a talented mage, but it felt like the lessons were crafted specifically to make him fail.

“That’s not going to get you anywhere,” Sorrel muttered as she set her long-stemmed pipe down so she could prop the candle back up.

His parents had Sorrel tutoring him in magic for months now, but he felt that they were less concerned in him learning magic and more in him learning to present himself the same way she did.  His cousin looked like the idealized example of a perfect, powerful, ice cold Orlesian noblewoman. Her long blonde hair was tied back into a knot that was so tight, it was practically pulling back the skin of her face as well.  Everything from her makeup to her sharply-tailored outfit was finely-tuned down to the most minute detail. Gascard were more than aware at the fact that his hair managed to escape his loose ponytail just ten minutes in to the lesson.

“It’s not fair!”  Gascard tried to wrangle his hair back, but he was too angry to maneuver his hands correctly. “There’s something wrong with this candle!”

Sorrel simply snapped her fingers and a tiny flame appeared on the wick.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she picked her pipe back up.  “You’re just being stubborn.”

Gascard blew out the candle,

“I don’t want to spend my magic lessons learning how to light candles.”

“And you know what?  I didn’t want to spend my day trying to teach patience to a bratty teenager, but here we are,” Sorrel lightly bopped his head with the unlit end of her pipe.  “When you figure this out, you can light my pipe for me.”

“What, can’t do it yourself?”

“I’m the tutor here.”

“Please,” Gascard scoffed.  “You’re only teaching me because you’re the only mage my parents know.  The only reason you have me lighting candles all day is because you don’t know anything beyond - OW!”

Sorrel bopped him again, slightly harder this time.

“My father taught me everything I know about magic.  So how about you watch your mouth, okay?”

“Then why doesn’t he teach me?”  Gascard rubbed the spot on his head.

“Why would he waste his time with a kid who can’t light a damn candle?”

The anger in his gut burned brighter.  Then it clicked. This is exactly what Sorrel wanted.  He could practically feel the flames dancing inside his fingertips.

Gascard focused on the candle and channeled his anger as he extended his palm.  A giant pillar of fire spawned on the wick, shooting upwards until the flames nearly licked the gilded ceiling above.  The sudden display of power nearly caused Sorrel to shriek and fall out of her chair.

“There,” Gascard leaned back in his seat as the fire died down.  “I lit it.”

“That you did,” Sorrel got to work smothering the little specks of flames peppered around the table.  “Like watering a rosebush by dumping it into the ocean.”

“You’re still not happy?”  Gascard groaned. “You wanted me to light the candle and I lit it.  Can we move on now?”

“Let me ask you something, Gascard,” Sorrel sat back down and tucked a few stray strands of hair back into place.  “Let’s imagine, by some miracle, you manage to find some friends.”

“Hey.”

“And you decide to show off some of your exciting magical abilities.  But you can’t control your powers, so what happens? All of your new friends burn alive,” she stared at him accusingly, as if she wasn’t speaking in hypotheticals.  “You know what’s going to happen then? Everyone’s going to say  _ ‘oh, Gascard can’t control his magic, he should be sent to the Circle’ _ .  And, more importantly, they’ll say  _ ‘huh, I guess Sorrel did a bad job teaching him’. _  I don’t need you tarnishing my reputation, okay?”

Gascard slumped in his chair,

“So what does this mean?”

“It means, maybe you shouldn’t use my mother’s party tonight as a venue for you to show off your abilities.”

“Hm,” Gascard shrugged.  “It would make things interesting, at least.”

“I do suppose it’s one way to ensure that your family never marries you off.”

“You’re just tempting me now.”

Gascard remembered he used to enjoy the extravagant parties his family would host.  But that was when he was younger and such events just felt like an excuse to wear fancy clothes and eat rich food.  The veneer wore off as he got older and Gascard soon grew to understand the true purpose of these parties. It was all about establishing one’s place in the vicious battlefield that was Orlesian politics.  He was no longer a child who was free to dunk his head in the fountain if he felt like it. Now, it was about playing the role of the noble family’s proper son. A proper son who was definitely not a mage and would be willing to marry some other noble family’s daughter.

“Sorrel?”  Gascard stared at the unlit candle.

“Hmm,” she prompted.

“You’re older than me.  How come you were never married off?”

_ “Ça, alors!”   _ Sorrel gasped theatrically.  “What are you trying to say?”

“It’s just, my parents have been talking more about finding a wife for me.  You know, ensuring social ties between powerful families and all,” Gascard shrugged.  “I wanted to know how you got out of it. You’re nobility too.”

Sorrel frowned.

“Truth is, I never had to get out of it,”  Sorrel held her pipe to her lips, lighting the end with a simple well-placed spell.  “I don’t know if it’s because I’m a mage, but my parents never pushed me to find a husband.  Thank the Maker for that, I’ll say. I’m quite content where I am.”

“You’re lucky,” he sighed.  “My magic hasn’t stopped my parents from constantly bringing it up.”

“Well,” Sorrel pushed the candle towards him with the end of her pipe.  “Maybe you need to get better at magic.”

Gascard grabbed the candle,

“I thought we were speaking honestly.”

“This is a tutoring session, not a confessional.”

 

* * *

 

“I take my eyes off you for one minute,” Gascard’s mother furiously tried to push his hair into place despite his protests. 

“Mother, I’m fine,” he attempted to move his head away from her grip, but to no avail.  As much as he wasn’t looking forward to his aunt’s party, he hated these last minute appearance checkups even more.

“ _ Fine?  Fine  _ will not cut it, Gascard.  This is my sister’s soiree.  We can’t walk in there with just  _ fine _ ,” she lifted his mask and clicked her tongue disapprovingly.  “Unbelievable. You have a spot on your forehead.”

Gascard pulled his mask back down,

“I’ll be wearing a mask!”

“Yes, but  _ I’ll _ know it’s there.”

“Gascard, listen to your mother,” his father was fixing his tie, using one of the shiny silver statues outside the Simoneau estate as a reflective surface.

“I heard her, but I don’t know what I’m expected to do!”  Gascard protested.

“You are expected to behave properly, or  _ fine _ , since apparently that’s your favorite word now,” she adjusted the wide-brimmed hat she wore, which rested on her perfectly styled strawberry blonde hair.  “Oh, which reminds me. The Robiquets will be in attendance and they have a daughter around your age. Esther, I believe her name is.”

“I see,” Gascard responded blankly.

“Behave yourself, and maybe something will come of this,” she gave a small laugh.  “If you end up getting married before Sorrel does, I will be able to hold that over Yseult’s head for years.”

“You don’t have to make everything a competition between you two,” Gascard muttered under his breath.

“Keeping a competitive mindset is the only way to survive in Orlesian politics,” she pushed him towards the entrance to the estate.  “Don’t embarrass us.”

 

* * *

 

 

The inside of the estate had been decorated extensively since Gascard’s tutoring session earlier that day.  Various guests mingled around the ballroom, clinking glasses and gossiping among themselves. Nothing of interest either.  There were a few snide remarks made about Sorrel’s hair or something, but nothing truly scandalous that could take Gascard’s mind off the monotony of these events.

“Abélia!”  The crowds of guests parted as Aunt Yseult strode towards them, a porcelain mask covering her eyes.  “My dear, it has been so long!”

“Yseult,”  The frustration his mother was exhibiting before quickly melted away into a performance of sisterly warmth.  “Thank you so much for inviting us to your little get-together.”

His aunt’s smile twitched at her response.

“But of course, I wouldn’t neglect to invite my own family.  I wish my dear husband could greet you as well, but he’s working out a small issue with the servants,” she turned her attention to Gascard.  “And is this Gascard? Maker, I almost didn’t recognize you. How old are you now?”

“He’s sixteen,” his mother cut in before he could speak.

“Ah,” Yseult sighed wistfully.  “I remember when Sorrel was that age.  She worked so hard to balance her arcane training with her studies in the university.  How are you handling it, Gascard?”

She gave a knowing smile and Gascard felt his body grow cold.

“I’m not in the university anymore,” he muttered under his breath.

His mother wasn’t looking at him, but he didn’t need to see her to know that he would definitely be hearing about this later.

“Oh, my mistake,” Yseult laughed.  “I must have forgotten.”

“That’s to be expected with age, my dear sister,” his mother quipped back.

Yseult’s forced smile looked like it was nearly splitting her cheeks open.

“Well, it has been a pleasure catching up with you,” she twirled her hand as she merged back into the crowd.  “I won’t keep you.”

Gascard’s parents eventually allowed him to leave their sight, but only after he managed to convince them that he was going to try to find Esther Robiquet.  That was what he intended to do at first. He hardly knew anything about Esther other than that she was not married, around his age, and from a noble family, but that always seemed to be enough for his parents.  When his parents decided to play matchmaker, it was always easier to just go along with it until the union inevitably didn’t go through.

His plans changed when he saw Victor standing near the dining tables.  His black silk suit was oddly somber compared to most of the outfits the guests were wearing, but it looked perfect on him.  His dark hair was pushed out of his face with the help of a silver mask.

“My, someone’s handsome tonight,” Gascard snuck up behind him, grinning at the surprised yelp Victor let out.

“Maker’s breath, Gascard,” Victor took a second to fix his mask.  “I didn’t expect you to show up.”

“I don’t think my parents would let me get out of this,” Gascard sighed.  “They’re hoping to arrange me with Esther Robiquet.”

“Oh, Lady Robiquet?”  he smirked. “Should I be jealous?”

“Why?  You want her?”

“Well, you should probably go talk to her before some other noble’s son swoops in,” Victor gestured to the back windows where she was standing, her intricate hairstyle and tightly corseted dress made it look like it would be difficult for her to do anything else besides talk to her friends wearing equally elaborate attire.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Gascard shrugged.  “At least it would get me out of this arrangement.”

“Want me to go over there and tell her what a sloppy kisser you are?”

Gascard elbowed him in the ribs.

“Ow!  Don’t do that!” Victor complained, despite his obvious smile.  “You’ll draw attention to us.”

“I thought you liked attention.”

Victor glanced around the ballroom to make sure nobody was looking in their direction before grasping one of Gascard’s hands.  Only for a few seconds, but it was enough to break up the constant performance of Orlesian politics.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Victor began hesitantly.  “You saw your cousin today, right?”

The question certainly threw Gascard off guard.

“Yes, I saw her at my tutoring session today.”

“Did she seem…”  he trailed off as he searched for the right word.  “...Okay?”

Gascard frowned as he thought back to the last time he saw Sorrel.  She seemed stern and impatient with his magic abilities, but that wasn’t any different from how she usually acted around him.

“Why do you ask?  Is something wrong?”

“I’ve just been hearing…”  Victor shook his head. “It’s probably just court drama.”

“Good, I was worried everyone at this party would be too civil.”

Victor snorted,

“Speaking of civil, you should probably go introduce yourself to your betrothed.”

“Hm,” Gascard glanced over at Esther, who still hadn’t moved from her spot near the windows.  “At least I’ll get my parents off my back by doing so.”

“Ah, the start of any beautiful relationship.”

Gascard smiled and managed to tear himself away from Victor.  The moment he stepped closer to Esther, the playful conversation she was having with her friends immediately came to a halt.

“Lady Robiquet,” Gascard bowed before the urge to leave took over.

Esther raised a perfectly-painted dark eyebrow.

“ _ Monsieur duPuis _ ,” the turquoise feathers adorning her glossy black hair barely moved as she spoke.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I...” he cleared his throat.  What  _ was _ his plan?  “Would you care to dance, Lady Robiquet?”

She stared at him while her friends laughed politely behind their masks.

“The band hasn’t started playing yet,  _ Monsieur duPuis. _ ”

“Oh, I see,” This was so much easier with Victor.  “Perhaps later, then?”

“You are not the only unmarried noble son waiting in line for my hand,” Esther examined her spotless silk gloves.  “I’m afraid my schedule is filled.”

“I see,” It wasn’t like Gascard was looking forward to this interaction, but he still couldn’t keep the feeling of defeat out of his voice.  “Then I won’t keep you.”

“Give your family my regards,  _ Monsieur duPuis _ ,” Esther paused.  “You are Lady Sorrel’s cousin, no?”

“Why?”  He was already turning around.  “Is she waiting in line for you too?”

Esther and her friends laughed,

“Maker, I hope not.  Have you  _ seen  _ her tonight?”

Gascard frowned,

“No, I haven’t seen her since I arrived.”

“Oh,” Esther’s expression returned to its neutral state.  “Well, let’s hope it isn't genetic. For your sake.”

He was tempted to ask her what she meant, but he didn't feel like prolonging the conversation any more than he had to. 

Gascard returned to Victor, who was grinning widely at him.

“So, when should we start the wedding preparations?”

“Very funny,” he sighed and shook his head.  “At least I can tell my parents that I tried.”

“Yes, you tried something for what had to be five minutes.  Must be a personal record for you.”

Gascard smirked and nudged Victor again,

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he shook his head and turned around to examine the hors d'oeuvres spread out on the table.  “The selection is better than last year’s. Any recommendations?”

“You’re not supposed to eat at these events.  The other nobles view it as a sign of weakness,”  Victor rolled his shoulders. “But the eggplant is marvelous.”

Gascard reached his hand out to select one of the appetizers, but froze when he heard voices murmuring behind him.  A hushed cacophony of court gossip.

_ See?  Didn’t I tell you? _

_ Maker’s breath, it’s even worse than I thought. _

_ Surely her mother can afford a mirror. _

_ Is she making a statement? _

_ A statement of what?  Madness? _

“You actually came.”

Sorrel’s voice cut through the chatter.

Gascard turned around, but he was unable to stop the startled gasp from escaping his throat when he saw her.

When he heard people gossiping about his cousin that evening, he thought it was something more akin to what he was used to hearing from Orlesian nobles.  Perhaps she was foolish enough to wear ruby feathers in her hair instead of crimson. Maybe she was wearing the same gloves she already wore to another formal event.  Maybe she was only ninety-nine percent perfect instead of her usual one hundred.

But no, that wasn't the case at all.

Sorrel’s hair, which was obnoxiously flawless when he last saw her that afternoon, was a mess.  No,  _ mess  _ would be too generous.  It looked like she woke up after a long night of restless sleep, then got caught in a violent windstorm before getting jumped by bandits.  Her long blonde hair fell in tangled clumps around her sloppily-made-up face. Stray hair pins stuck out of the strands, but the style they were holding together fell apart a long time ago.  Whenever she moved her head, a pin would occasionally come loose and clatter to the glossy marble floor.

“Sorrel,” Gascard couldn’t pretend that seeing his cousin like this didn’t amuse him, but he kept his composure.  “What happened?”

“Adrienne,” Her eyes moved frantically around the room.  “Where’s Adrienne?”

“Uh,” Gascard glanced over at Victor who just shrugged in response.  “Who?”

“ _ Whom _ ,” Sorrel shook her head.  “Never mind. Servant girl.  Brown hair. Elf. Holding a tray of pastries.  Did you see her?”

“No, I don’t think I’ve seen her.”

“And it’s too early to start serving pastries,” Victor added.

“Shit shit shit shit…” Sorrel cursed under her breath as she rubbed her forehead.  “Maker, no…”

“Is everything-”

“It’s probably too late, but maybe it’s the proof they need.  No, no, no no no…” Sorrel kept whispering as she grabbed a knife from the table and hid it behind the folds of her dress.

“She must  _ really  _ like pastries,” Victor muttered.

“Sorrel, are you okay?”

She took a deep breath, her hand resting against the concealed knife.

“You’ll find out eventually.  For now, there’s something I need to take care of.”

She turned around to leave, only to collide with a nobleman.

“Excuse me,” She tried to move past him, but he blocked her way.

“You’re Yseult’s girl, right?  Was she too busy planning this evening to check and make sure that you look presentable?”

Sorrel forced out a laugh,

“Very funny, but I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“I can tell,” another woman chided.  “You look so disheveled, I almost mistook you for a Ferelden.”

“Please, I just need to-”  Sorrel tried to elbow her way through, but more nobles were stopping her.

“You must indulge me with your  _ inspiration _ for this look, Sorrel.”

“ _ Look _ is a generous word for whatever  _ that  _ is.”

“Honestly, do you have any shame?  Showing yourself with your hair looking like  _ that _ ?”

“Maker’s breath, that hair-”

Sorrel sliced through the noise with a guttural scream.  Everyone in the manor fell silent. All eyes were on her.

“It’s. Just. Hair!” She hollered.  “There is important shit going on, and you want to whine about my hair?!  Fine!”

She slid the knife out of her dress and hacked off her long blonde hair.

“There!”  She threw the hair at one of the nobles’ feet.  “Talk about that! Now, get out of my way.”

“Sorrel!”

The crowd parted as Yseult stormed over to her.  The parts of her face that weren’t concealed by her mask were bright crimson with rage.  “What are you doing?!”

“Mother, I just-”

Yseult grabbed her and managed to wrestle the knife out of her grasp.

“I didn’t spend eleven months planning this event so you could make a fool out of yourself!”

“Let go of me!”  Sorrel forced out as she tried to wiggle away from her mother’s grasp.  “Where’s father?”

“I told you, he’s dealing with the servants right now.”

Sorrel paled,

“No, let me go!  Let me go!”

She looked over to Gascard, her eyes pleading.  But what did she expect him to do? It wasn’t like there was a candle she needed lit.

“But trust me, your father will be hearing about this little embarrassment,” Yseult tightened her grasp around Sorrel.  “For now, you’re going to your room.”

“No, you just have to listen to me!”  Sorrel screamed as she was dragged away.  “No!”

Her screams continued to echo through the halls before fading away.  No one spoke. No one moved. Everyone stood still as they processed what had to be the juiciest court drama of the year.

“Not to speak ill of your family,” Victor whispered to Gascard.  “But I think I just figured out why she never married.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Sorrel incident continued to follow Gascard around weeks after the event.  His parents were quick to distance themselves from that part of the family (although his mother revealed in the knowledge that she “won” the evening over her sister).  However, Gascard couldn’t help but feel concerned for Sorrel. The way she looked at him before she was dragged away, was there something she expected him to do? Was he supposed to know what was going on?  Maybe he should have paid better attention during their tutoring sessions.

When the initial shock wore off, Gascard was able to return to his routine without being followed by whispers and side-eyed stares.  It wasn’t long until Gascard was back aimlessly wandering around the Library of Val Royeaux, feeling disappointed in their selection of magic-based texts.  In a sense, it was as if nothing had changed-

“Are you Gascard DuPuis?”

The librarian stopped him one evening before he had a chance to leave.

Gascard froze.  This had to be it, right?  He must have spent too much time looking for books related to magic.  How could he give himself away that easily? Stupid, stupid…

“Someone left a message for you,” The librarian pointed to a piece of parchment lying on the counter, tied together hastily with a blue ribbon.

“Oh,” Gascard pushed his relief down as he swiped up the message.  “Thank you.”

“This isn’t a post office!”  The librarian called to him as he left.

Gascard stepped outside and unfurled the parchment.

_ I need to talk to you.  As soon as you get this.  My house. Tell no one. Very important. _

_ -Sorrel. _

Not exactly the kind of eloquent writing he would have expected from an Orlesian noblewoman, although Gascard didn’t know what he should expect from Sorrel anymore.  At least this meeting could provide him with some answers.

 

* * *

 

 

Gascard expected to be turned away for arriving at the Simoneau estate unannounced, but fortunately one of the servants let him in.  He had hoped to slip in without being noticed by too many people, but apparently that wasn’t going to be possible.

“Oh, Gascard,” Yseult was dramatically draped over a chaise lounge while Jacques, his uncle, sat stone-faced beside her in a nearby chair.  “Did Abélia send you to gloat for her? Was she unable to do it herself?”

“No, I just-” he froze.  Why didn’t he think of an excuse first?  “My mother thought she left one of her earrings in the upstairs washroom.”

Yseult waved her hand dismissively,

“I see.  Off you go then.  I’d hate for the servants to accidentally mix her off-season jewelry in with my collection.”

“Of course, Aunt Yseult,” Gascard turned around on his heels.  “Good evening, Uncle Jacques.”

Jacques didn’t respond, but Gascard could feel his judgemental glare burning into him as he hurried up the stairs.

The moment Gascard reached the top of the stairs, he scurried over to Sorrel’s door and knocked as quietly as he could.

“Sorrel,” he whispered through the wood.  “It’s Gascard. I got your message.”

There was a short pause, but then the door opened.  Sorrel stood before him, her face sallow and exhausted, her blonde hair was evened out to a short fuzz around her head.  It was surreal seeing her not looking pristine for once. Almost made it easier to see her as an actual person.

Gascard moved to enter her room, but he was stopped by an invisible force blocking the door.

Sorrel sighed and slumped her shoulders.

“That’s the thing about having a mage for a father.  Discipline is a bitch. But we can still talk, so that’s all what matters.”

“How did you get that message to me then?”

Sorrel looked over her shoulder.

“The window doesn’t open enough for me to fit through, but I was able to throw a royal coin down to anyone who would drop the letter off at the library.  I know you’re there a lot,” she turned back to him and lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “I need your help.”

“Do you want me to dispel the ward?”  It was a little beyond his training, but if it could be a chance for him to prove himself…

Sorrel shook her head,

“Wards won’t work like that.  No, this is more important,” she sighed and closed her eyes.  “It’s about the incident at my mother’s party.”

“You’re going to tell me what happened?”

She nodded,

“It all started when I began noticing that we had new servants around the house.  At first, I didn’t think anything of it. But then I realized that the old ones were disappearing.  I figured that there must be an explanation, so I didn’t question it. But then, I was trying to get ready for the party, but something felt wrong.  So I broke into my father’s office…”

Sorrel inhaled sharply and squeezed her temples.

“I don’t know how to describe it, but it was horrible.  I know my father is an apostate, but I didn’t think he could be  _ that _ kind of apostate.”

“Wait,” Gascard couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “Are you trying to tell me that my uncle is a blood mage?”

“If it is, it’s a particularly twisted kind of blood magic,” she slumped her shoulders.  “You see? How am I supposed to focus on getting my hair done perfectly when this shit is going on?  I knew that something had to be done fast, but I panicked. Now I’m locked in my room while people are getting hurt.”

“So,” it was difficult for Gascard to keep his voice steady.  “What do you need me to do?”

Sorrel took a deep breath,

“The inner chamber of my father’s office is locked so only another mage in the family can open it.  I need you to go in there and find evidence against him. Anything. This can’t continue.”

Gascard couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You want me to turn your father in to the Templars?”

“Or the guards?  I don’t know, anyone,” Sorrel’s voice broke.  “This isn’t easy for me either. I love my father, but I can’t sleep at night knowing that this shit is going on in my own home.”

Gascard looked down at his hands.  Could he really do this? How would the court respond to him turning against his own family like this?  What if his own magic was discovered?

“Gascard, please,” Sorrel pleaded.  “I know that the empire teaches us to disregard empathy for the sake of climbing the political ladder, but I’m sick of that shit.  Sometimes, you have to put aside what’s politically advantageous and just do what’s right.”

“You suddenly have a lot of faith in me.”

He expected some snide remark about him being her last option, but instead she looked at him with what could be interpreted as genuine sympathy.

“I know I give you a hard time.  But you’re still a mage and you’re still family,” she gave a pained smile.  “I know you can do this.”

Gascard closed his eyes and sighed,

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

Sorrel’s face softened,

“His office is the last one at the end of the hall, on the left.  Once you’re inside, you can find the entrance to the inner chamber behind his desk,” she bowed her head.  “Thank you. You’re doing the right thing.”

 

* * *

 

 

Getting to the office was easy enough, but finding the entrance to the inner chamber was a whole different issue.  Fortunately Uncle Jacques was still in the sitting room downstairs, but Gascard still felt that he couldn’t be too careful.  Ducking behind the large maplewood desk in the center of the room, he knelt down and felt around the glossy marble floor for any kind of disruption.  It was ridiculous, imagining his uncle having to do this, but eventually he felt a dip when he pressed onto one of the marble tiles. He held his breath, pushed, and sure enough, the section of flooring slid away.

 

Gacard had hoped for a straightforward entrance to this secret lair, but that would have been too easy.  The space beneath the floor was blocked off by a heavy iron plate adorned with runes pressed into its surface.  Gascard conjured a small light in his palm and leaned in closer to examine the runes. He didn’t know why he did that.  It wasn’t like his limited magic training involved the study of runes. He tried pressing on them, but the plate didn’t give.  He tried using magic closer to the runes to cause some sort of reaction, but still nothing happened.

It wasn’t until he brought his light spell closer to the runes when he noticed the faint streaks of crimson smeared across the plate’s surface.

Gascard sighed.

_ Of course. _

He peered over the top of his uncle’s desk in the hope of finding something sharp enough to do the job.  Eventually, he found a letter opener laying amongst the scattered loose papers. Not exactly a knife, but it would have to do for now.

Turns out, finding the proper tool was the easy part.

After he swiped the letter opener from the desk, he sat frozen in place as he stared at the blade.

_ Just do it, _ he scolded himself.   _ What are you waiting for? _

He sucked his breath in through his teeth as he pressed the edge of the blade against his palm, but he still couldn’t bring himself to break through the skin.

Gascard was curious about blood magic in the past, but he didn’t think his first time doing it would be like this.  He certainly didn’t think he would be this...hesitant. It was like every instinct in his body was telling him to stop.

He bit his lip, squeezed his eyes shut, and slid the blade across his palm with the speed one would use to rip off a bandage.  The feeling was numb at first, but soon enough the pain began to sting up his arm.

Tears were welling in his eyes when he finally opened them.  Thank the Maker he was alone. After taking another shaky breath, he squeezed his freshly-cut hand and allowed the blood to drip onto the plate below.

The effect was instantaneous.  The moment the blood hit the metal surface, the runes began to emit a sickly blue glow.  A harsh grinding sound flooded through the previously silent office as the metal plate slid away, revealing a stairway leading down an inky dark tunnel.  Gascard didn't have time to worry about whether or not anyone in the house heard the sound as he jumped in.

Gascard only had the faint glow of his spell for light as he stepped deeper into the chamber.  The stairs lead down to an octagonal-shaped room lined with sparsely-filled metal shelves and an examination table placed in the center.  The leather restraints bolted to the table were unbuckled and it was difficult to tell if they were recently used or not. In fact, the entire room was eerily clean.  If anything nefarious was happening in that room, the evidence was thoroughly scrubbed away.

Since it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to drag the table over to the authorities (not that it would have been sustainable evidence anyway), Gascard took to examining the shelves for anything of note.  Most of the books he found were standard tomes about magic that wouldn’t be out of place in a Circle library. Turning them in as evidence wouldn’t do anything beyond exposing his uncle as an apostate. No, he needed something bigger.  Something that could defiantly prove that Jacques Simoneau was worse than just an illegal mage in hiding.

A couple of loose sheets of paper fluttered to the floor as Gascard flipped through one of the books.  As he knelt down to pick them up, the illustrations immediately caught his eye. Crammed between the blocks of sprawling writing were remarkably detailed anatomical drawings.  Bodies flayed open. Detailed diagrams of muscle fibers. Animal skulls represented at all possible angles.

As Gascard flipped through the pages, the illustrations only grew more bizarre.  He saw humans stitched together with animal parts. Animals combined with other animals to create brand new creatures the Maker himself couldn't conjure up.  There were even diagrams showing a person made entirely out of the stitched-together remains of corpses.

This went beyond magic and into the realm of madness.  Gascard knew right away that these weren't penned by his uncle.  The notes accompanying the diagrams were written in scratchy common, as opposed to the flowing Orlesian script he usually saw from other nobles.  He flipped through the pages until his fingertips felt raw, hoping to find a sliver of information about the madman who wrote them. Sadly, he only came up empty.

Gascard slumped to the floor as he continued to stare down at the pages, the impeccably detailed drawings showing more genuine passion than anything he'd seen in the Orlesian court.  It was horrible, monstrous. There was no way anything represented on the pages could even be possible. If someone could actually accomplish this, that would make him…

The papers shook in his hands.  This would be perfect evidence against his uncle.  The Templars could use something like this. But he needed it.  Even in his wildest imagination, Gascard never thought of using his magic like this.  Even if it was all hypothetical, this was the world of magic he was waiting to unlock.

As Gascard snuck out of his uncle’s office,  he stopped and took a moment to stare down the hallway towards Sorrel’s closed door.  She was counting on him. For the first time in his life, it sounded like she actually believed in him.

Gascard felt underneath his jacket for the pages he had tucked away.

She would have to continue being disappointed in him.

He was going to find that author.


End file.
